


Love on the Brain

by orphan_account



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Armie is a dick and Timmy snaps but in a hot way, Implied Breakup, M/M, frustrated sad boys are frustrating and sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:42:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22668733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Oh, and baby I'm fist fighting with fireJust to get close to youCan we burn something, babe?And I run for miles just to get a tasteMust be love on the brainThat's got me feeling this way (feeling this way)It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so goodAnd I can't get enoughMust be love on the brain- Rihanna -
Relationships: Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 27
Kudos: 50





	Love on the Brain

The kiss tastes bitter on his lips. 

Like misery and regret and the smell of cold, stale cigarette smoke of a lost and broken man. 

His touch feels all wrong. It’s rough and demanding. Desperate. Timmy hates it.

Armie is once again asking for more time, for more understanding, more sympathy. Hushed words whispered under his breath while he pushes him into the stall of the men’s bathroom.  
His back connects harshly with the tiled wall and he just stands there and glares at Armie for a long moment before he balls both of his hands to fists and slams them against the cold surface of the cubicle.

Usually when someone asks for your patience, what they are actually asking is for you to surrender.

And Timmy is ready to give up. 

It's been too long and too much of everything. The hurt, the lies, the sneaking around. Too many emotions and not enough rational thinking. Too many tears, too many broken promises and never enough time to fix them.  
It’s been months since the last time they spent more than a few hours together before rushing to the next appointment.  
Months since they would just disappear for a couple of days, holed up in some hotel, getting stoned, talking, ordering too much take-out and fucking until the room would stink like Cheech and Chong were slowly decomposing under their bed and their skin was sticky with humidity, sweat and dried cum.  
They would pretend-race to the bathroom and fight over who’d get to go into the shower first but always end up in there together anyway. 

But the last couple of times they fucked had felt cold and disconnected.  
There was no talking - before or after - just the mechanical process of putting it in, climaxing, pulling it back out and cleaning off. Quick. Emotionless. Stale.

Armie slams the door shut behind them, locks it. He towers over Timmy and if he didn’t know him, he’d almost be intimidated.

Timmy wipes at his mouth with the back of his hand, desperately tries to get rid of the taste of Armie's tongue. 

“Fuck you, Armie” he bites out. “Look at yourself! When’s the last time you slept?”

Armie’s pupils are dilated, his usually clear, bright blue eyes now a dark shade of black, bloodshot, trying to pinpoint a spot on his face to focus on. The little chicken pox scar on his cheek, the two freckles on his upper lip, his long, thick eyelashes.  
Armie’s eyes end up frantically bouncing from mouth to nose to eyebrows and back again because there is just too much of everything and he can only take Timmy’s face in fragments anyway. 

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough for the night? I know it’s easier to just get high and ignore the fact that everything around you is falling apart, but how long do you want to keep doing this to your body?” 

“You know-” Armie glares at Timmy, takes a step towards him, reaches out his hand and tucks a rogue curl behind his ear, lingers there for a couple of seconds, then runs his index finger over the side of his cheek and cups his face. “- don’t act all high and mighty, Tim. You’re not as innocent as you want everyone to believe you are. The darling sweetheart. Internet’s boyfriend.”

His eyes narrow as he leans closer towards his face.  
Timmy winces and tilts his head away from Armie’s touch, sees a tinge of hurt flash through his eyes and almost regrets it. 

Almost.

“You’re being mean.”

Timmy knows Armie has a tendency to lash out when backed into a corner. He feels like he should brace himself for a potential outburst. 

“What would your _girlfriend_ say if she knew what you’ve been up to whenever she’s not around? What we have been up to? Remember all those nights in London together?”

“Fuck. You, Hammer.” 

Armie grimaces and Timmy wants to slap that sardonic smile off his face. 

Suddenly Armie is standing right in front of him, grabbing his chin with his thumb and index finger to get him to look at him. Armie’s face is only a couple of inches from Tim's now and when he speaks again his lips are hovering close to Timmy’s. 

"Does she know how to make you cry out with her mouth on you? Has she ever heard the noises you make when a tongue slowly pushes into your hole? Does she know you like at least two fingers deep inside you and what your skin tastes like when it’s drenched in sweat and cum?” 

Armie's breath tickles his face. Shoots a tingle of warmth down his spine that ends up pooling hot just above Timmy’s dick. He shifts his weight, pushes his hands into the pockets of his jeans and is grateful for the little bit of friction it offers.

"Does she know how much you love getting fucked? Do you think she’d love watching you on your hands and knees, my cock buried deep inside you, with one of my hands jerking you off and the other pulling your hair? I know you’d love that. But would she?" 

He lets go of Timmy's chin, his palm skimming down his neck, his chest, stopping just short of the waistband of his pants. 

Timmy squeezes his eyes shut. Tries to will his body to behave, not to react to the proximity of Armie's fingers to his cock. Fails.

“Don’t--”  
The plea is too quiet, too soft, and Armie ignores it, pushing his hand into Timmy’s pants, smiles wickedly when he feels the velvety skin of his hard length burn hot against his cold fingers.

Timmy exhales a soft moan.

“Armie, stop that!” Timmy shoves him backwards and the mix of shock and hurt on Armie’s face when he crashes into the door almost throws him.

“Tim, what the fuck--” he huffs, straightens himself back up again. 

He stares at him for a couple of seconds, slowly raises his arm and puts his hand to his mouth, lets his tongue run over his fingertips and smiles triumphantly when he can taste Timmy on them. It’s mesmerizing and Timmy can’t look away, feels the heat begin to pool in his groin again and he silently curses his treacherous cock. 

“I hate when you’re like this. It’s impossible to have a conversation with you.” Timmy runs his fingers through his hair, drops his hand to the side, lets himself fall backwards until his back connects with the wall behind him.

“I didn’t come here to _talk_.”

“Clearly.”

“Then why did you follow me in here when you’re not even gonna let me fucking touch you?”

“I don’t know, Armie, maybe because I think there is still something between us worth fighting for? Maybe because I’m gullible enough to believe all the things you keep promising me?”

He suddenly feels the heat rising from his lower belly straight to his face and tries not to let anger overcome his thoughts but he finds it hard to suffer so many letdowns and still remain calm. 

“What you’re doing to me... you don’t even know how... you have been stringing me along for three years, pretending--”

“I never pretended anything with you” 

“--to love me as much as I fucking love you!”

“Hey, hey, come here. Don’t-” Armie takes two steps towards Timmy and tries to pull him into a hug. Timmy struggles against Armie’s embrace, wriggles himself free and shakes his head.

“This is not how I wanted this evening to go.”

“Yeah? That makes two of us.” 

“Oh right. You… you thought you could just shove me in here, lull me in with your usual sweet talk and dumb promises and I would just fucking drop my pants and let you fuck me against the bathroom sink, is that it?”

“Kinda… I mean…” Armie cocks his head and raises his eyebrows as if to ask if he’s right or not.

That’s enough for Timmy to snap. He surges forward and pushes his body into Armie’s who falls against the cubicle door, grabs at his face and yanks it down towards his. Presses his lips against Armie's, feels his mouth open and pushes his tongue past his teeth. 

“Is this what you want, yeah? A horny little ragdoll you get to bend and twist and use whenever you want. Whenever you need it? You’re a fucking prick, you know that?” Timmy says, grabbing Armie by the shoulder, twisting him around and pressing his face against the door, holding it there with his hand at the back of his head. 

Timmy shoves his other hand between Armie and the door, fumbles around for the buttons of his jeans, finds them, plops them open slowly, one by one, careful not to touch Armie’s cock even though he can feel how hard he is. Imagines that he must be leaking profusely.  
It makes Timmy want to fall to his knees and take him in his mouth. His throat opens almost on command and he feels how it aches to be stretched, tries to ignore it.

He pushes his jeans and boxer briefs down, runs a hand over Armie’s exposed ass, squeezes the firm skin until he is happy with the red marks his fingertips are leaving behind. Until Armie is gasping and canting his hips forwards, desperate for friction.  
Timmy pushes his jeans down another couple of inches, gets a handful of hairy thigh, slowly strokes upward and slips a finger between Armie’s cheeks. Teases the hot skin between his legs until Armie rolls away from his touch and continues rutting against the door, moving in tiny circles.

“You’re so desperate for it, aren’t you?”

He pulls his finger from between Armie’s cheeks and snakes his hand around his hip, lets it rest on his cock, finds it leaking profusely all over the surface of the cubicle door, which feels cool against the back of Timmy’s hand.  
He closes his fist over Armie’s hard length and pumps painfully slow, gathering a mess of precum and slicks his fingers with it. 

Armie whines in protest as Timmy pulls his hand off of him, then sighs with relief when he feels Timmy drag the flat of his slick fingers over his hole. Presses one of them against it and waits for Armie to open for him.  
A long groan sounds from his chest when Timmy slowly pushes past the ring of muscle and further inside his tight heat.

“Shhhh, what do you always say to me? _You need to relax, it’ll hurt less if you just relax, babe_.”

Timmy adds another finger slowly, working Armie open. Pushing all the way in, then pulling back out, thrusting back in and increasing the speed until he feels Armie relax into the painful stretch and burn.

Armie makes pitiful little sounds and Timmy is suddenly overcome with anger, wants to give him something he can’t just hide away, mark him, claim him. A hickey or a bite mark on his neck. Evidence that Armie is his. That they belong together.  
He wants to see him reduced to a quivering mess of strung-tight nerves, desperate and needy and begging for more. 

He puts as much of his weight against Armie’s body as he can so it is impossible for him to squeeze his arms between his body and the door to jerk himself off. 

Armie groans, frustrated that he can’t touch himself he tries to grind his hips, desperate for the smallest movements, for some kind of friction or relief as Timmy keeps fucking his fingers into him faster and harder with every thrust, his hard cock slapping against the cubicle door. 

"Fuuuck Tim, Tim you need to--” his eyes are squeezed shut, jaw slack, the right side of his face pushed into the door. “You need to stop, I’m gonna…”

But Timmy doesn’t stop, keeps driving his fingers in and out of Armie relentlessly, unbearable pressure building and building until the final thrust hits that sensitive bundle of nerves inside of him that sends Armie over the edge and cum, untouched, crying out Timmy’s name. 

He can still feel Armie’s hole pucker around his fingers when he slowly pulls them out of him and pushes himself off his body.  
Armie rests his forehead against the door, hips still jerking as he comes down, watches his cum slowly trickle down the surface and drip on the tiles.  
He’s a mess, breathing heavy, his hole hurts but he’s already missing the feeling of Timmy’s fingers inside of him.

He pulls his jeans and boxers back up, flinching as the cold material brushes over his sensitive skin, then finally turns around and looks at Timmy who is sitting on the closed toilet lid.

“That was--”

“I’m done” Timmy avoids eye contact, his gaze fixed on the door behind Armie.

“What do you mean _You’re done_?” Armie tilts his head to one side, looks at Timmy and smiles the most heart-stopping smile.

Timmy wipes his fingers on a piece of toilet paper, drops it on the floor and gets up. 

“I mean, I’m done. I can’t do this any longer. I let this go on for far too long. And now I'm putting and end to this right here. Right now. For the both of us.”

“No… no, you’re not _done_. I need you!”

“You don’t need me, Armie, you just need the attention I was more than willing to give to you.”

“That’s not true. You know that's not true! Timmy, I” -Armie takes a step towards him- “I love you.”

“No, you don't. You don't love _me_. You just love the way I make you feel.” Timmy says quietly. 

He pushes past Armie, reaches for the lock, pulls the handle down and slips out the door. He walks over to the sink, turns the faucet on and lets the cold water run over his hands while staring at himself in the mirror. 

From inside the cubicle Armie can hear Timmy sniffle and take one last shaky breath before the door to the bathroom opens, then closes.


End file.
